


Survivor's Guilt

by smarshtastic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Decisions, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Guilt, M/M, Minor Character Death, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 13:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11624676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: He can picture the anger on Commander Reyes’s face - even worse, the disappointment. Why did Reyes think he could do this?Jesse made the call to retreat. It was supposed to be the right thing - he's always been chastised for being too rash, too stubborn. The one time he wasn't...---A bad call on one of Jesse's missions leads to the death of some teammates.





	Survivor's Guilt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabrega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/gifts).



> It's Day #5: Regrets/Guilt for [Blackwatch Week](https://blackwatchweek.tumblr.com/). If haven't yet (why not?!) check out the Blackwatch Week [twitter](https://twitter.com/blackwatchweek) and [tumblr](https://blackwatchweek.tumblr.com/) to see SO MUCH good content for our favorite Blackwatch agents!!
> 
> Thank you (as always) to [fabrega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/) for being the beta a girl could ask for ♥
> 
> You can find my on [tumblr](http://wictorwictor.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/smarshtastic)! Come say hi!

“Make the call.”

Jesse hesitates, his heart beating in his throat. He's not ready for this. He shouldn't be the one calling the shots here - what were they thinking, letting him run point on this field mission?

“McCree,” Valdez says sharply in his ear. “Make. The call.”

“Fall back,” Jesse blurts out finally. 

“Fall back?” Edwards’ voice echoes doubtfully over the comms. Jesse makes a frustrated noise. 

“Do you want me to run this thing or not?”

“Fall back,” Valdez says, cutting off Edwards before he can say more, her voice much more confident than Jesse’s. Why didn't they put  _ her _ in charge, Jesse would like to know. 

“Rendezvous back at the landing zone,” Jesse says. “Do not engage and keep your heads down.”

A chorus of affirmative responses come through the comms. Jesse takes a deep breath and looks at Prithi. She nods to him. 

“Let’s move.”

Getting out is easier said than done. Jesse and Prithi fight their way out of the facility; it's messy. Hostiles come at them from all angles. Nothing's gone according to plan and the best they can do at this point is get everyone out. 

By the time Jesse and Prithi finally make it to the landing zone - badly bruised and battered - more than half the strike team is there. Edwards and Shiga stagger in, supporting each other’s weight as they go. Valdez and Kepler are hot on their heels. 

“We have to go - now,” Valdez shouts. Jesse shakes his head. 

“Where's Church and Flores?”

“We don't have eyes on them,” Tack says, leaning out of the shuttle. Jesse swears and presses his hand against his ear piece. 

“Church - Flores. Report,” Jesse says. 

“We don't have time, McCree,” Valdez says sharply. “The place is rigged to blow.”

“Church, Flores. Report,” Jesse says again. Valdez grabs his arm, forcing him to look at her. Her face is grim, serious. 

“We have to go,” she says. Jesse grits his teeth. He knows she’s right, but he hates that she is. His heart has dropped to somewhere around his stomach. 

“Let’s move out.”

The strike team piles into the shuttle and the Newtons take off just as the first explosion rips through the facility. The shuttle rocks with the force of it, but the Newtons keep them on course. Jesse grimaces, and then, suddenly, static comes through his earpiece. 

“ -Cree, Valdez - someone -”

It's Flores’ voice, tinny, but the fear in her voice is evident even through the static. Jesse scrambles to get a better signal. 

“Flores?” he asks. “Is that you? Where's Church?”

More static. Jesse bites down on the inside of his cheek, not daring to breathe. 

“Don't have - can't - shuttle?” 

“Listen - listen to me, Flores. Find cover. We're coming back for you,” Jesse says. Valdez’s head whips around sharply. 

“Jesse -”

“Tack, Wake, head back to the landing zone,” Jesse says above Valdez’s protest. Wake exchanges a look with her brother. 

“The force of the explosion -” Tack begins to say. 

“Flores and Church are back there. Turn this ship around,” Jesse barks. The Newtons begin banking the shuttle back around. Into the comm, Jesse says, “Hold on, okay Flores? Find some cover. We're coming back.”

“- injured - need help -” Flores’s voice falters. “Jesse, I don’t know if -”

The second explosion rips through the facility. The comm goes dead in Jesse’s ear as the shuttle rocks violently. 

“We can't take it in any farther,” Tack says as he and his sister struggle to regain control of the ship. 

“The heat is going to fry our sensors,” Wake says. Jesse pulls the receiver from his ear and stares at it in his palm. It feels like a noose is tightening around his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Valdez touches his shoulder. 

“We have to get back to base,” she says, voice quiet. “We can get a clean-up crew out there when we’re back.”

Jesse blinks blankly at her for a moment. He shakes himself. 

“Yeah - yeah. Back to base.”

The Newtons correct their course, stabilizing the shuttle and getting them back en route to the base. Jesse drops his earpiece into a charging port and moves to the back of the shuttle, away from the rest of the team. Everyone is quiet for the remainder of the flight. Nobody bothers Jesse. 

Back at the base, Jesse slips out of the shuttle and away from everyone else before Dr. Ziegler lures everyone into the infirmary with the help of her team. He makes a beeline for one of his better hiding spots; up in the ventilation, down the hall from a training room that's mostly underutilized. It's cramped -  _ cozy,  _ Jesse has told himself - but there's a blanket and a bottle of whiskey waiting for him when he finally manages to pull himself up into the ceiling. It takes longer than usual because of his injuries, but it’s worth it. He takes several long, deep gulps directly from the bottle before he lies down with his cheek pressed to the blanket, staring blankly at the metal wall of the ventilation shaft. Flores’ last words are still echoing in his ears - the fear in her voice and the promise Jesse couldn't keep - making the noose tighten around his throat. He hurts, not just from his own injuries, but from the loss. The failure hurts in a way that Jesse didn't expect. 

He curls up tight and drinks deeply from the bottle again. They're definitely going to kick him out this time. They gave him the responsibility to plan and execute this mission and he failed. He failed and he lost two agents on top of it. They're  _ dead _ and it's his fault. 

He can picture the anger on Commander Reyes’s face - even worse, the  _ disappointment _ . Why did Reyes think he could do this?

Jesse made the call to retreat. It was supposed to be the right thing - he's always been chastised for being too rash, too stubborn. The one time he wasn't...

Maybe he can run before they find him. Jesse knows all the routes - he's an excellent escape artist, and he hasn't tried to run for years at this point. He could probably get away with it. Then he wouldn't have to face any of it. 

Jesse presses his face harder into the blanket as the tears start to fall; a combination of panic, fear, anger, and an acute sense of loss. It hurts to breathe deeply - his ribs must be cracked - but he deserves every ounce of pain he's facing. People  _ died _ and it's his fault. He was supposed to have put that all behind him. 

He gets through most of the bottle before he passes out, a combination of exhaustion, pain and inebriation. 

Jesse wakes when a gust of cool air blows across his face. He picks up his head with some difficulty - his neck sore from his injuries and compounded by sleeping face down. It takes his eyes a moment to focus. When he sees Commander Reyes’s head poking into the ventilation shaft, Jesse sits straight up. His injuries protest and he hits his head against the top of the shaft as he tries to scramble away. 

“McCree,” Reyes says firmly, but with no anger in his tone. Jesse pauses. “You’re supposed to be in the infirmary.”

Jesse rubs the growing bump on the back of his head. “I’m alright,” he says. Reyes looks skeptical. 

“Come down from there,” Reyes says. Jesse hesitates. “Don’t make me make it an order.”

Dread and panic rise in the back of his throat again, but Jesse eases himself out of the ventilation and lands heavily on the floor below. Reyes swings the vent shut and dusts off his hands. He looks Jesse over, his dark eyes piercing. Jesse avoids looking at him. 

“Are you okay?” Reyes asks. Jesse looks up sharply. 

“Sir?”

“You’re bleeding.”

Jesse folds his arms over his chest, hugging himself tightly. “I’m fine.”

Reyes doesn’t say anything for a long moment, still looking at Jesse critically. Jesse does his best not to squirm under the look. 

“Come on,” Reyes says finally. 

“Sir?”

“Come  _ on _ , McCree.”

Reyes turns on his heel and starts down the hall. Jesse follows after a beat, his mind reeling with the possibilities. He expects Reyes to take him to his office, but instead, Reyes holds open the door to the training room. Jesse pauses. 

“Sir, if you’re going to send me to prison, you best just do it now,” he says in a rush. A strange look passes over Reyes’ face. 

“Just get in the training room, will you?”

Jesse swallows thickly. He steps past Reyes into the training room, still hugging his arms close. He hears the door slide shut behind them and Reyes’ heavy footsteps. Jesse braces himself for the inevitable. 

“McCree,” Reyes says, voice quiet, strangely gentle. “Are you alright?”

Jesse blinks. He half-turns back to face his commander, suspicious - but Reyes is looking at him with soft eyes, concern clearly evident in his expression. 

“Losing agents is always hard,” Reyes goes on, still with that same gentle tone. It should sound condescending, but - somehow - it doesn’t. “You don’t need to suffer because of it. Things like this happen.”

Jesse looks at Reyes for a long moment, disbelievingly. 

“It was my call,” Jesse says. His voice gets louder, wavering as he goes on, “I said we should retreat and we  _ did _ and we left them behind. They died because of  _ me _ .”

“Hey,” Reyes interrupts. He reaches out and puts a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, squeezing firmly. “Church and Flores are gone because of those terrorists. Your call saved the rest of the team.”

Jesse looks away again. “We could’ve gone back.”

“No, you couldn’t have. You know that.”

“I shouldn’t have -” Jesse’s voice breaks. Tears spill over and Jesse tries to turn away again, to hide his shame from his commander. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Reyes is pulling Jesse in by the shoulder, wrapping warm, strong arms around his body. A  _ hug _ . Jesse stiffens for a moment, but the gesture is… exactly what he needed. Jesse melts into it. He presses his face into Reyes’ shoulder and the sobs well up again. 

“We’re going to lose people, McCree,” Reyes is murmuring, voice low and rumbling in his chest. It’s soothing. “It’s never going to get easier. But you’re not alone - you’re never alone in this.”

Jesse doesn’t say anything, making embarrassing hiccuping noises into Reyes’ shoulder. He should be mortified - he will be, later - but Jesse can’t remember the last time he was held like this, the last time he was allowed to cry. His shoulders shake, his nose runs into Reyes’ hoodie. He can feel the wet spot spreading against his cheek. Jesse fists his hand in the front of Reyes’ sweatshirt, clinging to him desperately, his only real lifeline. 

Reyes, for his part, doesn’t let go. One of his hands is rubbing gentle circles between Jesse’s shoulder blades. He doesn’t say anything more, letting Jesse cry himself hoarse. He doesn’t even move when Jesse’s sobs have subsided, and the shake of his shoulders is from Jesse simply trying to catch his breath. 

Jesse pulls away first, even though a large part of him doesn’t want to (who knows when he’ll get the opportunity again?). He drags the back of his hand over his snotty nose, avoiding meeting Reyes’ eye. 

“Sorry,” Jesse says roughly. 

“You don’t have to apologize right now.”

“It’s my fault.”

“I’m not in the business of assigning blame,” Reyes says. “These things happen. It’s our line of work.”

“I can’t just -” Jesse waves his hand, looking at Reyes finally. “ _ Forget _ what happened.”

“I’m not asking you to do that,” Reyes says. He meets Jesse’s eyes, there’s a pain there that Jesse hasn’t seen before. He has to look away. “I remember every loss, McCree.”

Silence falls between them. Jesse wipes at his nose again. 

“Here -” Reyes says. When Jesse looks up, he finds Reyes holding out a handkerchief, with a Blackwatch logo embroidered in the corner. Jesse takes it, too bemused to ask any questions about the origins of the handkerchief. “We should really get you cleaned up.”

“What time is it?” Jesse asks, once he’s blown his nose. 

“Late. The infirmary will be quiet.”

Jesse hesitates, then nods. “Alright,” he says. He holds the handkerchief back out to Reyes, who shakes his head. 

“Keep it. I have plenty.”

Reyes turns and heads out of training room. Jesse follows at his heels, unsteady on his feet. His various injuries are starting to make themselves known again, and the whiskey is still buzzing in his system. Reyes glances behind him then drops back a step to walk next to Jesse, putting a steadying hand between Jesse’s shoulder blades. 

Jesse doesn’t shrug him off. 

Dr. Ziegler is still in the infirmary, working on paperwork, when Jesse walks in with Reyes. She looks up, eyes lingering on Reyes for a moment before she stands. 

“Let’s get you a bed,” she says. Jesse follows her to a bed and eases himself up, lifting his arms with difficulty to strip out of his tac gear. He keeps the handkerchief in his hand. When he looks up, Reyes is already gone. It twists something in his gut, but Jesse pushes that thought out of his mind. Instead, he lets Dr. Ziegler run her scans and clean him up and set up the biotic field. He only half-listens to her chiding, the guilt already welling up again. Eventually, she runs out of steam and prescribes rest while the biotic field does its job. Jesse turns over on his side once Dr. Ziegler has moved away. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to let himself get overwhelmed by his own thoughts, the handkerchief clenched tightly in his fist. 

=-=-=

Dr. Ziegler releases Jesse from the infirmary first thing in the morning. He’s still sore - and a little hungover - but he’s glad to escape the doctor’s watchful eye. She was liable to start asking questions; she already recommended a visit to Dr. Harrington, but Jesse would rather not talk to the psychiatrist immediately, if he could help it.

Instead, Jesse makes a beeline for Commander Reyes’ office. 

He knocks on the door, rocking on his heels. He really hopes the commander is there, before he loses his nerve entirely.

Jesse spent the night mulling over Commander Reyes’ kind words, his gentle tone, his strong, reassuring arms. It didn’t do much to dispel the weight of Church and Flores’ deaths, not really, but it woke something else in Jesse that he hasn’t allowed himself to feel. 

The door to Reyes’ office slides open and Jesse comes face to face with the commander. He straightens. 

“McCree,” Reyes says, slightly surprised. “Did Dr. Ziegler release you or did you make an escape?”

“She released me,” Jesse says. He hesitates. “Do you gotta minute?”

Reyes blinks then nods, taking a step back so Jesse can walk into his office. “Of course. Come in.”

“Thanks.”

Jesse slips around him and rocks on the balls of his feet. He hears the door slide closed behind him. He steels himself then turns to face Reyes. 

“How are you feeling?” Reyes asks. Jesse crosses the space between them and pulls Reyes in for a brief, clumsy kiss. His nose bumps against Reyes’ and their teeth click together but it’s unmistakably a kiss. 

Jesse lets go and steps back. Reyes blinks at him. Jesse feels the color rise to his face. 

“I spent all night thinkin’ after what you said and - I just got so many regrets already, and if - if I was in a position like Church or Flores were, and if I didn’t get a chance to… to do that before, well,” Jesse clears his throat a little. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time, and I’m tired of living so full of regrets.”

Reyes lifts a hand and touches his lip. 

“Jesse…”

“Look, you don’t gotta say anything if you don’t - mmph!”

Reyes takes Jesse’s face in both hands - surprisingly gentle - and kisses him soundly. It’s less clumsy than Jesse’s first attempt, Reyes’ lips soft and his goatee just barely brushing Jesse’s top lip. Jesse finds himself letting his eyes flutter closed. 

It’s over too soon. 

“I’m tired of living with regrets too,” Reyes says softly, letting his hands fall away from Jesse’s face. Jesse blinks dumbly for a moment. 

“We ain’t in this alone,” Jesse says, an echo of Reyes’ calming words from the night before. The corner of Reyes’ mouth twitches up slightly. 

“Finally, something I said got through to you, huh?”

Jesse surges forward to kiss him again. 


End file.
